Fight off the light tonight and just stay with me
by thechosenone305
Summary: John knew he was a greedy man. A greedy, amoral, nasty mess of a man. Long before Newcastle, he had a feeling he was going to end up in hell one way or another and that the bastards downstairs had a seat carved with his name on it. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I'm feeling very JohnChas and in celebration of Fall Out Boy dropping their new album, I wanted to make a one shot. The title comes from a lyric in their new song, Jet Pack Blues, from their new album. It's amazing, so many emotions packed into one album. Listen to the song if you can, it's on YouTube and Spotify. Damn good song. Damn good. **

**So this fic alternates POVs and locations and I think you'll be able to tell who it is. No need for that old fashioned "_'s POV". I remember those days. Oh yeah, the good ones. But anyways, I think I'm more noticeably increasing my skills at writing more darker and mature themes with Constantine, or just darker and mature in general. I'm proud. Yay me. **

**It was going to originally be one long one shot, but the formatting got kind of weird and I decided to just make them into separate chapters. This is a new style of writing, so yeah. Here you go! I don't own Constantine. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Summary: John knew he was a greedy man. A greedy, amoral, nasty mess of a man. Long before Newcastle, he had a feeling he was going to end up in hell one way or another and that the bastards downstairs had a seat carved with his name on it. John knew that he had all the vices but lacked all the virtues, that he had selfish needs but had nothing to give back in return. He also knew that he was the last person anyone would've wanted as their beacon of hope to save the world. John knew a lot about the occult and the fact that he was one of the most feared magicians in the world.

But he didn't know what to do with the repressed, long desired feelings for the one man that has always been there for him the most, and the one man he could never have.

*Title from Jet Pack Blues by Fall Out Boy*

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts**

After using magic, there was a high. It wasn't like drugs or alcohol, where it dulled your senses and made things spiral from your control. Instead, it was adrenaline charged pleasure and an awakening of all five senses. It made the user feel alive for those few hours after the spell.

The scientific term was endorphins, or as John liked to call it, the high without drugs.

Of course, that wasn't the case with all spells. Some took a few years off his life. Others left him dizzy because blood had to be sacrificed. Some knocked him out cold. And a good handful always had some sort of kick to them. As well known as a magician that he was, he rarely used spells and mostly relied on his own wits and sorry luck to get out of nasty situations. Spells were a last resort.

But in some cases, spells had to be used.

Some spirit was acting up, taking out their anger and killing each couple that had moved into what used to be their house. It was near the older parts of Boston, and they had to be taken care of before more people died.

There was a twist, though. Apparently, the ghost had been killed during sex and had always acted up whenever someone was in the house and getting their jollies off. A rather awkward situation, but John was no stranger to supernatural beings and sex. After presenting the case to Chas, they took a three hour drive to Boston.

Time to force them nasty blighters over to the next life.

"The only survivor says that the ghost shows up when a couple starts to get hot and heavy," John had placed his bag on the hood of the cab, pulling out the necessary tools needed. "So we're gonna trap it."

"Okay, how do we do that?" Chas asked.

"We bait it and do the classic trap under a rug."

"Bait it how exactly?"

John smirked and lit up his cigarette. "I promise I'm a good kisser."

He watched as Chas had a rather confused look on his face before he finally understood what John meant by baiting the ghost. "Oh."

"You don't mind, right?" John asked.

"No, of course not. Let's do it."

John knew that his friend's interests were more into the personality of a person rather than the gender. And it wasn't like they hadn't fooled around a few times while drunk. It wasn't like people hadn't mistaken them for a couple. It has happened before, plenty of times, and it didn't help that John would smack Chas's arse and call him "Babe", just to see the look on his face. "If people mistake you and your best mate for a homoerotic love affair, then you're doing it right," he'd grin and hear Chas chuckle. But in the end, it wasn't an issue, or even something offensive. They were both not straight, what was the harm in joking around?

And it wasn't a lie that he's always had some sort of attraction to Chas.

It had started off when they were barely adults. Chas cared for John and John cared for him. That feeling never went away over the years that he had grown to know Chas. In fact, it had grown to be something more, not just a physical attraction. And John knew he would be lost without him, or in a very bad place.

The plan was simple enough. They were going to put on a show for the ghost and lure it, then trap it. Recite a spell and send the bastard into the afterlife.

They broke into the house and went upstairs to the bedroom, stepping around the crime scene tape and the dried blood stains on the rug. The bed was covered in a thin sheet, glass shards on the ground from a broken green champagne bottle.

"Are we supposed to get it on, _in here?__" _Chas asked incredulously.

John shrugged out of his coat. "I've done it in worse places," he said.

He didn't feel any change in the room yet, glancing around the room quickly. No sign of the spirit.

Now that John thought about it, no wonder Chas was a bit weirded out. It was going to be awkward to try and put on a show for a ghost. Not that they would be actually doing anything. It was all an act, was it?

Even while sitting down on the bed, Chas was taller than John.

John scooted closer and closer until he was only inches from Chas. Not a way to be subtle, yes, but the fact that he could kiss Chas wasn't one he was letting pass by as just a distraction. This was his opportunity.

One hand reached up to his face and softly cradled it, and god did that feel good. So innocent, chaste, unlike the lan they were sticking with. He brushed his fingers against Chas's thighs, hoping for him to get the hint. Get on with it, _pull me onto your lap. _The ghost didn't show just for smalltalk. He needed to get the show on the road.

He tugged onto the collar of Chas's flannel shirt a few times, trying to get his attention.

"What're you waiting for?" John hissed. "Get on with it."

Chas rolled his eyes at his friend's antics but moved closer. Taking John's order, he went to grab at the back of the blond's head, briefly playing with the hair at the base of his head.

It was a simple touch, just his fingers brushing at the base of his neck, but John's breath hitched a little bit. The smallest touches made him feel more and more awake, reminding him that this wasn't some bloke or skirt he picked up at the pub, that this was _Chas._

Right. He had to pull a move. Get the show on the road.

John leaned close and pressed his lips onto Chas's. Lacking all elegance and grace. Something so sudden, awakening something that had been buried deep down after years of desire and repressed emotions, something that he _needed_.

It was so different from the few drunken kisses they had shared before. This one had intent, it meant _something. _The attraction was there, wasn't it?

He pulled himself onto Chas's lap and tangled his fingers into his hair. Felt the fabric from Chas's shirt on his arm and his own staggering breaths as C

His face flushed and heart beating wildly, he moaned when Chas leaned down onto his neck. "Jesus," he gasped. His beard left some scratches on his skin as he kissed and bit down, sucking at his skin with such ferocity that he knew there were going to be bruises.

Chas's hands pulled John's tie loose and tossed it aside. He went to his cotton shirt, undoing each button one by one, pressing heated kisses on the exposed skin. One hand unbuckled John's belt and his fly.

John moaned, reminding himself to focus. The ghost could show up any minute now. He needed to focus and look for the bastard. Not concentrate on Chas's hands brushing over his crotch and god, he let out a loud moan.

He felt Chas push him onto the bed, kissing him with something that bordered passion and roughness. And it felt so _good. _John managed to undo a few buttons on Chas's flannel and pull him down for deeper, longer kiss. With the long moan that he got when John brushed his hand against Chas's crotch, he knew things were about to go further.

"Fuck me," John said. "Fuck me, now."

"I'm about to."

Chas already pulling down John's trousers before John got dragged off the bed and slammed into the wall with a cold hand around his neck.

"Fuck!" he gasped. The ghost had appeared. Nasty looking one too.

"Now!" John gasped out.

Chas performed the spell with perfect pronunciation and John was dropped onto the ground. He gasped for air and lay there for a few moments, letting himself catch his breath.

"Are you okay?" Chas asked.

"Bloody peachy," John grumbled. Well, wasn't he a sight. From the broken mirror shards around him, he saw that his hair was tousled and tie was half out of it's knot. Shirt untucked, halfway unbuttoned, flushed and disheveled appearance. Belt unbuckled and the no longer hard cock in his pants.

Rather than standing up, he laid down on the ground, panting.

Suddenly the urge to shag in a crime scene wasn't there any more.

* * *

**A/N: It's kinda short than my usual quota, but it's a start! There's more to come, just stand by. :) Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'M BACK BITCHESSSSSS. Sorry this took a while y'all, life happened. But aye, I'm back! I don't own Constantine; enjoy!**

* * *

Memphis, Tennessee

* * *

John had imagined this many times before.

Well, not imagined. Imagining something is having a mental image in your head that you want to see be real. It was realistic, and not that far fetched. It wasn't imagining. He had made the mistake of letting his hopes up before, and he always got hurt in the end.

Imagining wasn't the word for it. He knew it was never going to be that way, no matter how much he wanted.

It was fantasy.

It was all fantasizing. Of kissing Chas, feeling him, knowing what it would be like to touch his skin intimately, closely. Nothing like the drunk stumbles they had done before, or the almost show they put on for the ghost with voyeuristic tendencies in Boston. It didn't end too well, considering he was getting choked in the nonkinky way.

He knew it was never going to happen. Him and Chas, being more than friends. It was too much of a risk. From friends to lovers, lovers to death, things never ended well for him. John was a manipulative, people using bastard. Chas deserved better.

Like all the things John had an issue with, he bottled it up and pressed it deep, deep down and move on. It was to not focus on it.

It was better to move on.

So he tried. John tried. And somehow, it had worked. A few girlfriends, probably one bloke. But he could say that he had plenty of one night stands, with him making shitty breakfast the next morning. He wasn't sure how the breakfast did anything for them, maybe as an 'thank you for a good fuck' gesture, but most of them seemed to like it.

As for the rest, well, he was the one being left in his bed alone. He could see why some of his old flames got mad at him because of that. But, as they say, old habits die hard. People were always going to hate him, especially the unfortunate ones that slept with him.

It continued to work, not focusing on what was definitely not platonic feelings for his best mate. Distractions were plenty; monsters, demons, ghosts being shoved into the other side of the tunnel, more life or death situations. Alcohol, smoking, hustling pool, it was a more of anything situation; more cases across the pond, each one more dangerous and twisted than the last. More rides with Chas in his cab, more of him trying to ignore himself trying to sneak glances at him.

It was more of trying to erase the thought of what it would be like to hear Chas moan his name and feel his skin. He was already having erotic dreams, a lot of them. It was embarrassing, to realize that the horny insecure teenager he loathed of himself was smitten with his best friend. It was getting out of hand. Waking up in a sticky mess, hooking up with strangers. He knew, he just knew, that it wasn't just attraction. Or that it wasn't even sexual frustration at it's worst.

He knew what it was. The risky, heavy four letter word that could wreck their friendship.

John was so fucked.

* * *

It was a case in Memphis. Something about a coven of witches, of all things. Chas didn't know how long they had been at the motel, but they were in there long enough for him to get antsy. Apparently, John felt the same way too, and felt eager for a night out at a pub. filled with loud laughs and a few rounds of cold pints. It had felt good.

John was all confident and full swagger, easily bantering with the bartender. He flirted with a few of the patrons and horribly failed each time. He complained about Yankees for a while, saying how the people in the South 'no bloody respect for one of their own.' Or something stupid. John tended to say stupid shit when he was drunk anyway.

Chas could hold his booze. He's no lightweight, true, but he was drunk enough to not be able to walk a straight line. They got a cab, not Chas's, to drive them back to the motel.

Drunk stumbles and laughter, with John trying to pay the driver in pounds instead of dollars. The cab cursing at them and Chas shoving a twenty into his hand, with John saying to "Keep the change, bloody Yank," all in a thick Liverpudlian accent.

Chas had to pull John away before he said more stupid shit.

They were laughing about some stupid joke. They were on the bed, sweaty. Reeking of the bar, a hot flushed mess. Finally, John sighed and leaned back against the pillows and kicked off his shoes, fumbling for a cigarette and looking for his lighter in his trenchcoat.

Chas couldn't help but watch as John lit up, how he always dragged out the first inhale. How his lips became one with the silk cut cigarette, the small sigh of relief he always let out.

He's seen him smoke, though. Plenty of times. Outside in the rain, standing under a small ledge to not having it lit out. In a crime scene, where there isn't much to do but wait. Drinking at a bar, reading papers on their newest case, it was so common.

But why was it now, when they're both buzzed, that it stands out more than ever?

"Why do we've got to deal with witches?" John asked. "Of all things, why them? Especially here."

"Hell if I know. I just tagged along."

"You always tag along," John noted.

"I like it," Chas shrugged. "Being out here, hunting down evil bastards."

John humphed a little bit, letting out a trail of smoke from his the corner of his lips. "Oh, you won't be saying that in the long run, mate. It's not an easy life to live."

Oh god. Chas has heard that one before. Too many times. John would try to push him away, to not have him be involved in hunting monsters. John had the habit to blame himself for the smallest reasons.

Chas already knew that John had a shitty father. He called him names, names that John learned to avoid at all times. Repressed memories and memories began returning to him, not just of his father but also of all the times he failed. Of all the times a life was lost under his control.

"John, c'mon," Chas sighed.

"It's true."

Chas had only seen glimpses of the raw, unfiltered John over the years he'd known him. He had built up many walls around him in a sense of self protection from getting too attached, too emotional about things. He never really had much trust in people.

It frustrated him so much.

John got silent and focused more intently on the cigarette.

Chas also knows that one all too well. The silent treatment. Great.

"John, do you not want me to come along anymore? On cases?" he asked. He knew he wasn't going to get a clear answer, because vagueness and John Constantine went hand in hand.

John sighed. "I like having your company, Chas. It's just…." he paused. "People have died by simply knowing me, on many occasions. Friends, lovers, even family. I don't want you to be one of them."

"I'm not gonna be one of them," Chas said firmly. "I need you to understand that."

John shrugged, his way of saying that he didn't want to talk about it further.

It frustrated Chas even more.

* * *

**Okay, so this got more angsty than I intended. It was gonna actually be longer than this, but I have more shit to upload. Anyways, SORRY FOR THE WAIT. Thanks for readingggg. Comments are welcome!**

Okay, so this got more angsty than I intended. It was gonna actually be longer than this, but I have more shit to upload. Anyways, SORRY FOR THE WAIT. Thanks for readingggg. Comments are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**London**

* * *

He wasn't worth it.

But that kiss in Boston never escaped John's mind. None of the kisses did. From the first time after the spell, to all the drunk groping they had while living as bachelors, to the making out in his cab when they were both too drunk to drive, to all the fantasies and dreams he's had about him. They were ingrained deep into his memory. It was something significant.

Even in the small gestures.

He'd wake up with guilt. He didn't know what he was thinking.

John was no stranger to infidelity. Have sex with a married man or woman? He's done it before, on those one night hookups with unsatisfied people at bars. He'd give them and himself some sinful pleasure, knowing that there was no attachment or feelings left behind.

He's been part of adultery before, whether it was just a one night stand or a weeks long affair. Sneaking behind the other's back, always the one the cheaters went with. He stay committed to his partners, but he had the worst luck with them. Always left or walked out on him one way or another.

But the fact that this married man he wanted to shag was his best friend made him feel sick.

Coming out of his thoughts, John sighed and let some smoke come out of his mouth

He tried to move on from Chas. And he did, somewhat. A few girlfriends, the odd boyfriend. It worked, of sorts. For a while.

It wasn't.

Chas had a family. His wife and daughter. A precious little girl that John knew no ancient artifact in existence could replace.

John couldn't bear the thought of him breaking that up.

So he moved back.

Yep. That was John Constantine, whose friends always ended up fucked, one way or another.


	4. Chapter 4

**Manhattan, New York City**

* * *

John had gotten into a bar fight again. For what reason, Chas didn't know. All he did know was that he was on his way back to the house when he got a phone call from John asking to pick him up at the bar.

Chas maneuvered John up the stairs of the apartment building and into his tiny, messy flat. Piles of old books on the coffee table, knowing that there would be even more in his bedroom.

He made sure that John had two Advil on the bedside table, along with a glass full of water. He knew that he was going to need them.

He had sent Renee a message that John ran into some trouble, already seeing the dreaded "Okay" reply. He'll have to deal with that tomorrow morning.

On the mess of the bed, Chas had somehow managed to get John into a pair of old sweats and an oversized gray t-shirt. (A shirt Chas had recognized as his own and thought was long gone.)

John was laying in the bed under the covers. "Oi...Chas," he said, his voice slurring some.

"What is it, John?"

One arm stuck out from the blanket and waved him over. "C'mere."

John motioned Chas to come closer with a sluggish wave of his hand. Chas did, sitting next to him.

"Y'know that I really do love you, right?"

"Yes, John. I'm aware." And was he. In the cab, all John said was calling him "my best mate" and mumbling to himself.

"No but...I really love you."

"You're drunk, John. Go and sleep."

"'m serious, mate. I love you. More than anything, I fuckin' swear,"

Chas paused.

"Ever since...Boston. Remember that ghost? And when I kissed you….I can't forget it, mate. I never have."

"Sleep, John."

"I'd do anything to be with you."

"Goodnight, John."

* * *

John had trudged down the stairs barefoot and his bedhead sticking all over the place. He didn't look as bad as Chas had predicted, which was probably in thanks to the pills.

His words continued echoing in Chas's head. Drunken confessions of love, thoughts he had never expressed while sober.

"Did I say anything I might regret?" John asked.

Looking back at the sizzling pan filled with bacon, Chas said, "You called me a goat in Hebrew."

John didn't give it much thought and shrugged it off, "You probably deserved it, then," he sat down at the table. "What's on the menu for today?"

"Omelettes and bacon."

"Ah bacon, the cure for a hangover."

"Not a cure for your stupidity. Tell me, why did you get in a bar fight?"

"I was drunk. So were nearly half the men in the place. Guy said I was looking at his girlfriend the wrong way, I didn't know who he was talking about, so I said it was his mother who I looked at. He got mad."

On the table, Chas's phone vibrated twice. The screen flashed the missed call notification and the ID, showing two messages from Renee.

"You gonna answer that?" John asked.

Chas looked them over, reading the words from Renee; "Dropped off Geraldine with the Castillo sisters for today. We have to talk."

Chas saw John's expectant look and said, "I have to go in a little bit."

"Oh, alright then."

A case had fallen into their hands. Vampire nest, starting off small in Lower Manhattan. The planning was done, all that needed was the strategy and the execution of the plan.

Chas had been bitter, more than usual. John was perceptive, his best friend's normally complacent attitude being frustrated. He knew that this time, it wasn't him who did anything to piss him off.

Well, not this early anyways.

"Who kicked you out of bed this morning?" John asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

"Don't worry about it, alright?"

"It's not that I'm worried. I'm mostly just curious. But I think I can take a hint. Did you get in a fight with the missus?"

"Yeah."

"She didn't even have the dignity to wait until I dropped off Geraldine. Just flat out started arguing during breakfast. I told her it could wait, that not while Geraldine was there and she kept on going."

"As much as your wife hates me and as much as I am not fond of her, you do know there is no obligation to have you here. If you want to be with your family, go."

John always said that. Renee hated him, wanted him to stay away from her child, her home, her husband.

Chas ignored the subject and said, "So anyways, the vampire nest."

That was Chas's way, lacking all subtlety. John rolled his eyes some but went along with it.

The rest would be for another time, then.


	5. Chapter 5

London

People around him died. It wasn't too hard of a bitter fact to grasp.

He's had girlfriends, boyfriends over the years. It was almost a cycle: partner comes in, first weeks are full of wonder, full of sex, fullness of some satisfaction in life.

But then life happened, near death experience, the partner left. Cue the following three or so days of doing reckless things to get over it. Drinking, smoking, not admitting his feelings out loud.

His lifestyle was too much to handle. Hell, his life is too much to handle. The fact that he has talked face to face with Satan before is too much to handle.

For the first two weeks, John hadn't bothered to step out of his run down flat. Drowning himself in whiskey, smoking a pack of cigarettes each day. It worsened, and he knew it.

He knew he had damned his soul, and Astra's to Hell. He knew that there was no turning back. He knew, due to that stupid rookie mistake, it cost a girl's life.

Master of the Dark Arts, yeah right. More like the master of fucking everyone over.

John was drunk when Chas called him.

"I don't know what to do," John said. "Damned the poor girl, damned her soul."

"Are you more upset over you damning her or yourself to Hell?"

"Both, bloody prick. I'm pissed about both. Maybe my arsehole of a father was right. I am a killer."

"John, you're not a killer."

"Astra's dead. She's screaming in hell right now. I can still hear her screams in my sleep. And god, does it hurt. Does it hurt every day to get up."

"John..."

"I'm a killer, damn it. Everyone I know dies, one way or another."

Chas had only seen glimpses of the raw, unfiltered John over the years he'd known him. He had built up many walls around him in a sense of self protection from getting too attached, too emotional about things. He never really had much trust in people. His father had done a number on him, which even today can still be noticeable. From the sense of humor being used as a tool of avoiding a subject to the fact that he still flinched at the word Killer when it was directed at him.

Killer. It still continued to haunt him, even now.

Astra's mother had called him a killer. Chas understood why she was upset. She had lost her child. Any parent would be upset.

But when the phrase killer was directed at him, John began losing it.

Chas already knew that John had a shitty father. He called him names, names that John learned to avoid at all times. Repressed memories and memories began returning to him, not just of his father but also of all the times he failed. Of all the times a life was lost under his control.

The smoking and drinking grew worse and worse. A pack a day, two packs, bottles and bottles. It was close to becoming an addiction.

John didn't want to sit up. Instead, he just laid in his bed, bringing up the navy comforter tighter around him. He had circles under his eyes, due to the apparent lack of sleep.

"Depression is a nasty thing to get yourself wrapped up with."

"How'd you know?"

"I had a feeling. It comes with a job like this, comes with a life like this. I've had it for years."

"But how did you hide it?"

John shrugged. "Acting," he said flatly. "Humor, laughing it off. Avoiding it, smoking, you name it."

"John, these self destructive tendencies will kill you one way or another. Don't give me that 'Go big or go to hell' bullshit, because you're still alive, you're still here. And I really hate seeing my best friend be like this." Chas made his tone quieter, more gentler "John, you're my best friend and I love you. Please don't hurt yourself like this. I know, it hurts, but it's not going to go away by smoking or drinking. I'll stay and help you as long as I can. "Do you want for me to hang up, give you some time alone?" Chas asked.

"No."

"Alright."

John sighed.

"You need to get some sleep," Chas said.

"Tried to make myself busy. I was gonna translate an entire book in spells from English to Latin but I couldn't make it past the first page. Tried watching that bloody show you're into, about the friends and whatnot, couldn't finish the first season. I tried everything, Chas. I really am going to hell, aren't I?" John asked.

"John...I'm sorry that I can't help."

"If you sell your soul for me, I swear to God I will kick your ass," John threatened.

To his relief, Chas let out a short laugh. "I won't. I'm not stupid enough," he paused. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"No, you're right. I'm going to go to the mental hospital. Check myself in, try not to believe anymore."

"Whatever helps you out best."


	6. Chapter 6

Outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama

"Chas...what happened with you and Renee?"

"She left."

"Did she take Geraldine with her?"

"Yeah."

John knew how much Geraldine meant for Chas, how much love and adoration he had for her. She was his pride and joy and cared for her more than anything.

John understood the passion Chas had as a parent for his daughter, the level of protection and nurturing rivalling anything and anyone's.

"I'm sorry, mate."

"Can't do anything now," Chas said. "She's already starting the processing for divorce papers."

So it was a permanent thing.

"I knew how much she means to you."

"I think being hopeful has always been my problem. Y'know? I hoped too much for things to work out."

"We could always use an optimist in a world full of reality."

Chas stayed silent for a few moments, driving out into the dark and empty road.

"It hurts so much."

What could he do? There was a high chance that he indirectly wrecked the marriage. There was John, taking Chas away on cases upon cases.

John reached out a hand, a hesitant hand, before placing it over Chas's and giving it a small squeeze. Chas interlocked their fingers together in a quick, almost desperate grip.

"You can stay with me at the millhouse," John said. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too."


	7. Chapter 7

Mexico

The body bag was ditched and crumbled on the floor. John was on Chas's lap, sweaty and unconscious.

Chas pulled up John to have his head lay on his upper chest, one arm around him to keep him steady against the constant bumps on the road. Even with the windows burned down, the hot air made Chas sweat endlessly.

In his arms, John slept none too peacefully. Sometimes he twitched and stirred for a few minutes, mumbling incoherent words in different languages. Some in English, some in ancient dead languages, others just pure gibberish. Then, he'd settle back in and continue sleeping in his drug induced state.

Chas was on full alert. They were only five hours into the thirty hour trip from Mexico City to Georgia. They'd have to get through border patrol, and none of that was going to be easy with the level of notoriety John was. Already, there were reports on the radio about a wanted reward of 20,000 pesos (and rising) for a "mentally ill English man convicted of murder escaping prison in Mexico City."

Zed had turned it right off and continued driving. She had long ditched the nun robes and was instead in more comfortable clothing. But on her lap was John's folded bloodstained trenchcoat, something she salvaged from the prison before they escaped.

Anne-Marie stayed silent for the majority of the trip. Guilty, for sure. Part of Chas was still angry at her for shooting John, because if it weren't for that, none of this would've happened. He wouldn't have to be holding his best friend in his arms and have that full blown alarm of having him die.

Chas had died and come back to life plenty of times. And as many times that John had escaped death, it was a fact that John wasn't immortal. In the end, even if he was Hell's most wanted, he was still a man.

"Chas..." John murmured. He was pale, growing more paler by the second.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

The apology was raw, like a dying man's final wishes. His voice was worn out and dry, and fuck, it hurt.

He could live without John, that was true. But the thought of losing him scared him immensely.

John struggled on what to say, his voice slurring into some words Chas couldn't understand before he finally choked out "I'm sorry for getting you wrapped up in this fucking mess. I'm sorry for taking you away from being a father."

Chas tried to aim for flippant, but realized he couldn't bear the thought of acting like that. His friend was dying and the possible reality of living without him could be happening any minute soon.

"John, breathe. I came here on my own will."

"I fucked up."

"We've been in stickier situations," Chas said.

"Exactly. Face it mate, you're ready to let me go. I've fucked things up for you long enough."

John was sluggish from the influence of the drugs. He was sweaty through his shirt and his hand was clutching Chas's arm as tightly as he could in his state. Like a drowning man's grip on a piece of lumber, someone not wanting to let go.

"At the mill house... Death's Scythe. Remember the case in '02? When we stole it from that con bastard in Utah?"

He remembered. One of their first big name cases in the US, what got John Constantine's reputation truly solidified "over the pond." A con man had stolen it from Death himself and was using it for killing anyone who got in his way of getting more and more exotic paranormal items.

And of course, John stole it right back and with enough sigils, didn't give it back to Death. "That old sod can make another one for himself, so screw that."

He took it with him to emergencies when desperately necessary, but he mostly left it in the Milhouse. It was too powerful of a weapon to be tossed around like a pocket knife.

"I remember."

"Yeah…..It can kill anything. When we get there, use it."

It took Chas a few seconds to realize that John wanted Chas to use the blade on him.

Chas shook his head. "I'm not going to kill you, John," he said firmly.

In the front, Zed stayed silent but shot a worried glance at Chas through the rearview mirror. Chas didn't say anything and instead looked down at the sluggish John, his full attention on him.

"I've had a spot reserved for me in hell already. 'Sides, it's the only way to get rid of that ugly git, Pazuzu. I deserve what's coming to me. I deserve it."

"You don't deserve any of it."

Chas had known John for years, and while John has fucked things up royally for many and other people, he still believed in him. John was a con man, an exorcist, and possibly one of the most important people in Chas's life.

"I'd rather have me die at your hands than being taken over by this bastard inside me."

"John, we will save you. You're not going to die."

"I-" John twitched sharply. He started gagging.

Shit. The demon.

Zed hit the brakes and started fishing through her bag for the needles. Chas had grabbed John as best as he could, keeping him close. He started trashing more and more, snarling and gasping. Zed found the drug and filled up the syringe as best as she could.

"Is it the right dose?" Anne-Marie asked.

"It's a demon king! It doesn't matter!" Zed reached over the seat and jammed the needle into John's arm and pushed down. In one fluid motion, she pumped the drug into John's blood.

Immediately, John fell slack.

Chas held him closer, hoping that Zed would go faster.

Atlanta, Georgia

John remembered laying down for hours on the bed. Coming in and out of restless sleep, thin sheets tangling around his legs. The smell and uncomfort of his sweaty shirt stuck onto his skin and he felt more sore than he had ever been in his entire life. Like a rag doll being dragged by a hellhound, which at this rate, he doubted felt worse than this.

Annie had been hovering by him with a tense aura of nerves and despite her good intentions, he waved her away. He just wanted to sleep, for days. Weeks.

Zed had gone to sleep a little while after the exorcism. She had driven all night and only relied on caffeine and a four hour nap to keep her going. Chas had given himself the task of cleaning up the kitchen, despite it only being slightly messy. But no one had to say that he just wanted to make himself busy, to leave the exorcism behind. It left all of them exhausted one way or another. She slept in John's room,

A chair had been placed next to him and in it sat Chas.

"Hey mate."

"Hey."

He felt some relief having Chas next to him.

"I'm so tired..."

"Sleep."

God, it had been so terrifying. Unsure if he was going to kill Chas, Zed.

He felt bitter tears prick at his eyes and they were so close to falling, and he did his best to keep them back. He felt Chas's gaze and turned away.

"It's okay."

He felt so raw, so exposed. He didn't afford to cry in front of others. Not because of perceivement as a coward, but because in his line of business, it could be used against him. He was a con man who exposed people's weaknesses and played it to his advantage when needed. It was common sense that other cons would do that to him too.

But this wasn't anyone. This was Chas. This was the one man in the world he would take a bullet for.

So he let the tears fall down his cheek. Silent crying bordered with soothing touches down his back. It was relief, it was fear, it was shock.

A warm hand touched the side of his face. It couldn't have been John, seeing how much they were still shaking. Chas continued to stroke the side of John's face softly, almost as if he didn't want to break him. And God, did that feel good.

"Breathe, John. Breathe."

John tried to, but it instead came out in a dry sob.

"I could've killed you. I could've killed you right there and there."

"But you didn't," Chas reassured.

Pazuzu pulled back memories of dark things. John left behind for obvious reasons. Abuse, death, the heavy drinking, Newcastle, leaving, being left behind. All things to shake John's soul and let his body be more vulnerable to be taken by the demon king.

John stuck out as hard as he could. Pazuzu didn't just touch on the repressed memories. It made up some more too. A living nightmare that stretched beyond lucidity and turned into full blown reality.

"Oh god, Chas. The things I saw…" The things I did.

Possessions never left someone scarred. Things said, things thought, they stayed. The memories, the pain, the fear of death.

He wanted to be isolated. God, he was a risk to everyone.

He felt a blanket being pulled onto him and a soft kiss being pressed into his forehead.

Chas woke up early out of habit to have some breakfast done. Annie was leaving in the afternoon for her flight back to Mexico. John was still asleep and looked more comfortable than before.

She put away food into tupperware containers, leftovers from dinner, enchiladas and salad. John was next to Chas, drying the dishes.

"John, you need to take a shower."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it's implying. You smell."

"Well, I just had Devil's finest have a joyride in me. Forgive me if I reek of sulfur or any demonic scents."

"There's a hose out in the back if you want to wash him," Chas said.

"Don't you bloody start giving her ideas."

"How do you feel?"

"Like a teenager losing their virginity without any foreplay."

Zed gave John a weird look until he rolled his eyes and said, "Sore. I feel sore. Burnt out. Damn achievement that I didn't pass out at the dinner table."

Not batting an eye at the comparison, Chas continued cleaning the dishes and said, "You need to take a shower."

"Only if you'll join me."

"No."

John shrugged, not disappointed. "Worth a shot."

"You got exorcised and you're that eager to jump into someone's pants. You are so predictable," Zed said. She was all too use to his flirting and non-subtle innuendo. And his interests in men and women wasn't a surprise for her either.

Chas still remembered a few weeks prior when John came to the mill house one morning after a night out. Zed was sketching and she greeted him with the typical "Who was the unfortunate woman this time?"

Rather than the typical snarky comeback, John merely shrugged and said, "His name's Albert, an architect from Chicago. Nice man."

After that, Zed dropped the woman and changed it to "victim", and it hasn't really stopped since. Chas had to commend her on her support, though. And having her around has made him happier, as well as John too.

Zed got rid of the heroin at John's request. She had announced she was moving in due to how John almost died, but it couldn't have been that. It couldn't have just been that. There had to be something more, and from the look John gave him once Zed said it, he wasn't alone in that suspicion too.

"C'mon love, you should've seen it coming. And I wouldn't say jump per say, more of a try."

"A for effort," Zed shrugged.

John leaned back onto the counter next to the dish rack.

"I'm fine, mate."

"You sure?"

"It's not the first time some demon tried to take me." Probably won't be the last, either.

"Still won't join you for that shower."

"Your loss," John whipped the dish towel he had been using at Chas's ass and threw it onto the table, Chas laughing and John flipping him the V over his shoulder as he headed to take a shower.

It was around eleven at night when Chas had knocked on his door

"It's open."

Chas entered and shut the door behind him. "Hey, just checking on you."

"Don't expect complete recovery just yet. Possession survivors aren't really going to be at their full 100% fully functioning mode for the first few weeks. Especially with someone as powerful as Pazuzu."

"Okay isn't really the word from it. More of barely breathing after being in Hell's chokehold."

"I saw some poor sods in Ravenscar. They were possession survivors and they were gone completely mad. It's not pretty."

"I can imagine."

"Still can't believe you conjured a demon to be inside you."

"It was a desperate situation," John said, too worn out to argue.

"Please, for the love of whatever is out there, don't scare me like that again," Chas pleaded. "I'm begging of you.

"I'm so sorry I put you through it," John said.

He pulled down Chas for a long, deep kiss. It felt good. It felt like he was alive, human again. Even though his stomach was churning in hunger and he could still feel the aftershocks from the withdrawal. It was almost enough to drown out the small, sticky darkness still left from the possession.

It was nothing like the kiss in Boston all those years ago; it was more than that. The adolescent like wonder and adoration was stronger, but more grown. More mature, seeing his friend for what he really was to him.

His love.

Chas never left him. He was always there for John, ready to help. A blessing in a life full of sins. John knew he didn't deserve a friend like that.

He tried putting all of what had happened in Mexico behind him, from Pazuzu to the Invunche, the nastiest thing. It wouldn't have been his first time dealing with one. And the few times he did, someone always ended up getting hurt. Someone always ended up dying.

"God, Chas," John breathed. It had felt so good, felt so right. "God...I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Crash and burn."

"I love you."

"I know."

John leaned his forehead onto Chas's, enjoying the warmth.

"Stay," he whispered. "Just stay with me, Chas."

And always. Always, it had been the same words. The same comfort from him that promised John more than any vow in the word.

"I'll be right here."


End file.
